


sparkover

by jamnesias



Series: Prometheus [1]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamnesias/pseuds/jamnesias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Loki’s father is bright skinned like starlight and full of smiles, and comes with a feeling like crackling flame in Laufey’s gut - heat, heat he is unused to, heat he wants to hiss at and slash away but instead finds himself touching. Fascinated.'</p><p>How Laufey and Farbauti met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sparkover

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, so this is what happened after I googled 'Loki's mother' only to discover that that was actually (probably) Laufey, and Farbauti was his father.

Loki’s father is bright skinned like starlight and full of smiles, and comes with a feeling like crackling flame in Laufey’s gut - heat, heat he is unused to, heat he wants to hiss at and slash away but instead finds himself touching. Fascinated—

Loki’s father is Jotunn, but also not. His skin is so light that the blue of it is almost iridescent, shifting like wintry sun. Where most of them have stiff, short hair like ice, or none at all, his is long and inexplicable. Down to his shoulders! It is black, _black_ ; it leaves your hands wet, sparks with electricity, spreads its black roots across Laufey’s face and tangles against his mouth. He has something else, he is something different. An anomaly. Hard and glittering, compacted ice. The frost crackles at his fingertips and the static sparks. There is lightning, there.

Jotunheim is not bleak, then; there was such colour and life before they started the war. Their frost flowers littered the rocks everywhere, green leaves spread like vines to fill as much surface area as possible and leech whatever light they could, their pale yellow petals bobbing like little suns in the wind. There was some running water, there was dew, there was grass as fine as cobwebs. They carved ice into sculptures and shapes, they sucked the melting water from their lovers’ fingertips after feasts and built temples of stone and ice that were ringed with misty, delicate ferns which unfurled overnight and snapped back in the daytime. When Laufey was made King his skin was a lighter blue than now, before it darkened in lack of light and harsh wind and toughened to darker hues. He is still the tallest of them, though, as he was taller than _his_ father was by his naming day - they had to reach up to put the crown of twisted, hardened leaves and stone on his brow. He roared, they roared back, he roared again to hear them a second time.

He was always greedy.

Loki’s father came from miles away, for Laufey’s crowing feast - he was called in to do tricks and entertain. His family knew fire, and he knew music. The Jotun stamped their feet for him and he sang; deep and shuddering tones that arced across the stone and ice, peaked and soared. They enjoyed it, but wondered. He was unknown, untrusted - was he what they were coming to, or was he what they had been? Something of the Asgardians, or something else? He had fewer of the markings across his skin than anyone Laufey had met before. Less of the natural ridges and inflections they all have that echo their relationship with the land, their tenacity and their adaptability; the facial grooves that wind and nature seem to create in the rocks and their skin. His nails were soft and his feelings were obvious, almost translucent through his skin; flushes and flashes of colour telling his thoughts. Emotions.

His mouth when he ate the nightberries turned heavy red and Laufey was drawn in like an animal. Fascinated. There were pinkish veins sparking across the insides of his thighs as he stood and sang, and up close there was even some green mixed with the red in his eyes. He knelt when Laufey ordered him to loudly, in his own rooms. Just smiled and dropped, silently. Laufey observed him, considering him on the floor, feeling prurient and furious and confused-- until Farbauti reached up and grabbed Laufey’s hand in his, then slowly licked across his palm. Grinned up at him. He nudged at Laufey’s tunic with his nose and chin and that was-- oh, that was that. They fell on one another and lit up like kindling. Fire was rare; he was rarer. He was a crack of light arcing through Laufey, he breathed out steam when they kissed and bit at each other and he was a heavy, shuddering heat--

And then he was gone.

He wouldn’t suffer being a consort, nor a queen. He liked to travel. He wouldn’t stay. There were birds back then, too; eagles, black hawks that dove into the snow to find worms and roots. He flew away, like them.

Laufey woke up alone, and felt unsteady. Ashamed. Betrayed. He dismissed Farbauti as an abomination and banished the mere shape of his name, in the wind. Then he set out to war instead.

Loki was born years, _years_ later. He was a fizzing, tiny flame that had sat in Laufey’s belly and burned small, then a little bigger and a little bigger, until he began to really stretch - to grow along with Laufey’s rage and anger and violence. He shocked Laufey with his movement, with tugging _warmth_ \- but once he'd started, he coudn't be stopped. Even when the Jotun began to be beaten back in the war, he continued to grow . It was too late when they began to _lose_. Kicks and flashes of his body inside Laufey, until he finally had to be cut out in the midst of a battle, hunkered down in an ice valley whilst none of the others saw.

He has heat in his blood and cold, tiny feet. There are the faintest, faintest lightning trails of black hair across the pale blue of his scalp.

Laufey cannot forgive that.


End file.
